


I'm sorry; I thought you ordered the bribe omelet.

by Vague_Shadows



Series: Found It All On My Own [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Deserves Nice Things, Canon Universe, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Michael Guerin Deserves Nice Things, Michael Guerin Loves Alex Manes, POV Michael Guerin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24836914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vague_Shadows/pseuds/Vague_Shadows
Summary: Michael needs a favor from Sanders.This is just a tidbit of Found!Family fluff. Unending thanks to Strangeredlantern for her brilliant beta skills, as always <3
Relationships: Michael Guerin & Walt Sanders, Referenced Malex
Series: Found It All On My Own [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803487
Comments: 45
Kudos: 172





	I'm sorry; I thought you ordered the bribe omelet.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Strangeredlantern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strangeredlantern/gifts).



> Indulged in some quick, fluffy writing because why not.

Michael works in the kitchen with a weird sense of deja vu. Sanders hasn’t moved a damn thing in here for the past fifteen years apparently, but that’s honestly helpful. Michael works relatively quietly, trying not to make so much noise that he startles Sanders awake, but enough that his presence in the kitchen is known. He hears Sanders' bedroom door open, followed by unhurried footfalls down the hall.

“Kid?” he calls.

“Nah, just a hungry burglar.”

“What in blue blazes are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Michael plates the omelet next to the toast he made and holds it out in offering. “I made you breakfast.” 

“Kid, what--”

“Here, take this.” Michael shoves the plate in Sanders’ hand and gives him no choice but to take it. “Go sit, and I’ll pour the coffee and--”

“Kid, you--”

Michael turns to busy himself at the coffee pot so he doesn’t have to look at Sanders. “I know. I remember. Milk, but no sugar, and--”

Sanders carelessly puts the plate on the counter with a clatter.

“ _ Kid _ !”

Michael winces at the exasperated outburst, finally accepting that Sanders isn’t going to play along even a minute more apparently. Michael sighs, turning to offer the coffee mug, and realizes his hand is shaking just slightly. Sanders notices the tremor, too, if the way his perturbed expression softens slightly is any indication.

“Jesus, kid, what the hell is wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. I just thought--”

“Just thought  _ you’d _ make  _ me _ breakfast for the second time in your entire life and didn’t think I’d know something was wrong? Told you before, I’m blind, not stupid. So what is it? You in trouble? You hurt? Something wrong with the others?”

“No, really, nothing’s wrong, honest.” Michael is instantly assaulted with memories of countless times he spouted that exact phrase to Sanders over breakfast when asked why he’d spent the night on the couch.

“That’s what you’d always say, and you were always lying, even if I let it slide more than I should’ve.”

“Well, I ain’t lying now, so quit worrying.” Michael reins in his petulance before admitting. “I just need a favor.”

“A favor, huh?” Sanders replies, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, and I know how you feel about favors, so…”

“So you thought you’d come butter me up by making breakfast?”

Michael shrugs. “Seemed more polite than having Isobel mind control you.”

Sanders frowns at him, taking the plate from the counter and heading for the tiny kitchen table. Michael follows suit, pulling out the second chair opposite Sanders and turning it backwards so he could sit astride and lean his arms on the back of it. Sanders takes a brief sip of his coffee before sitting it down beside his plate with a sigh.

“How much do you need, kid? You know I’m broke as hell, but maybe--”

“Hold on, I didn’t ask you for money; I don’t  _ ever _ ask you to lend me money. Maybe I’m broke as hell, too, but I’m not here to ask you for charity.”

“Then what  _ are  _ you here to ask for?”

“I got the money--at least I will, I did all the math and everything--but, apparently, I need credit. I never built any up, so even though I don’t owe anybody anything--well, except my bar tab at the Pony, but that’s different--I can’t get financing or whatever.”

“What the hell’re you financing?”

“Well-um--it’s--it’s a ring,” Michael manages with more difficulty than he anticipated.

“A  _ ring _ ?”

“Yeah, a ring--ya know--for--well, it’s for Alex.”

“What’s he need a ring for?” 

Michael’s self-consciousness gives way to exasperation. “What d’you think? For getting engaged! And hell if I’m gonna propose with a ring out of the gumball machine at the crashdown! It’s gotta be  _ nice _ , which means I gotta make payments, except they won’t  _ let  _ me unless somebody with credit signs, too.” 

Sanders’ face breaks into a fond, crooked smile. “Kid, we both know that boy would say ‘yes’ if you proposed with the plastic ring off a milk jug.”

Sanders is right, of course. Alex isn’t going to base his answer on the quality of the ring Michael gives him, but Alex  _ deserves _ the best ring Michael can manage--within reason anyway.

“I’m not getting him the hope diamond; I just don’t want to wait the six months or so it’ll take me to save up for it.”

“What’s the rush.” Sanders huffs dramatically. 

“It’s been over a decade,” Michael points out. “How long d’you expect me to wait, exactly?” 

“Well, when you put it that way, I reckon you might be right.”

“So will you help me out or not?”

Michael has no plan B--not beyond waiting the six months to save up--because there’s no way his dignity could recover from asking anybody but Sanders for this favor. 

“You sure that a Manes can make you happy, kid?” 

Michael glares. “Are you fucking serious with that question? Alex is--” He cuts off the word as the corner of Sanders’ mouth turns up in a hint of a smile, having succeeded in his unoriginal attempt to goad Michael to annoyance. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“You got it bad, huh? Not that it’s any surprise. I half expected the heat off those looks you give each other to set my junkyard on fire one day.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “You’re the  _ worst _ , old man. You know that?”

“Have you got the papers I’m supposed to sign with you? Or have I got to get myself to town for this?”

“You’ve gotta go in person, so they can make sure I’m not swindling some old coot out of his money.”

“Well, in that case, you owe me breakfast  _ and  _ lunch,” Sanders says, grinning across the table and finally taking the first bite of omelet. “Now, get in there and make yourself an omelet, too, so you can eat up and get to work.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
